[COPYRIGHT STORY]. A WAYSIDE WAIF

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVI, Issue 2, 13 January 1906, Page 11

[COPYRIGHT STORY]. A WAYSIDE WAIF

By

David Christie Murray

Author of “ Joseph’s Coat,” Etc.

A TRIFLE over forty years ago, in the grimy middle of England, a man, a woman, and a little cart drawn by a tired donkey, left the high road north of Birmingham, and made to the left towards the Worcestershire border. The man held the reins of frayed rope, and nursed between his teeth a cold and empty ielay pipe. The woman, scared and white, lolled across a roll of weather-

stained canvas, closing her eyes at one moment, and opening them at another, with a monotonous indication of great fatigue and pain, it was the height of summer and the afternoon sun stared in her face with an intolerable heat and radiance. The springless vehicle shook her with anguish at every revolution of the wheels. The man wore a narrow fillet round his forhead. His hair, which was oiled with a dirty luxuriance, paid greasy tribute to the drab velvet collar of ait overcoat once stylish. This garment, buttonless from throat to ankle, failed to hide a set of tumbler’s fleshings, .which were stained and faded, and displayed a figure of splendid proportions. The man’s walk was that of a trained athlete. The thin shoes he wore were without heels, and his level-footed gait was beautifully lithe and balanced. He was in the early prime of life, but his face was disfigured by signs of hard drinking. What with the athlete’s panther wa£k, the hardy, roving, drinkshot eye, an astonishing personal vanity', and a look of unbreakable daring, there was something almost noble in his aspect. The fillet and the fleshings magnetised a little mob of children which trailed behind the cart. On a sudden, the roadway swerved and dipped, and a broad landscape came into view. In the valley smoked a town, dark and sombre, and between it and the hill a score of furnace chimneys were flaming: pale tongues of fire, deadened by the sunhgnt, licking at tormented columns of black smoke. There was a clanking and booming there, and a dull roaring, as if evil things were chained and complaining below the flames. Far away a pastoral country spread, with scattered houses, and further still rose low hills, faintly' blue, with wavy ridges, and sides flat with distance, like so many mere flat washes of thin indigo. I “Jack!’’ said the woman, in a husky whisper. "1 can’t stand it any longer. Stop. Help me to get out. The patient little ass stood ill, bracing himself with projected fr-reieet on the sloping road to support tk, weight of the cart. The man insinuated an arm about his companion’' waist, lifted her to his shoulder, and slipping his hand beneath her knees, raised her as if she had been s child. It was a thing few could have done, for her position gave him but an awkward leverage, and her figure was tall and well-developed, lie stood nursing her for a moment as if his strength made nothing of her. "Let me sit down," site said, "and drive away those children. They worry me. following and staring-.” He obeyed her, gently in the first place, and fiercely in. the second. He came back from a short angry excursion against their followers, to find the woman pressing both palms hard against the ground, whilst her glance fastened on his. and clung to it with a look of anguish. He regarded her with a gloomp pity, and then, with a single gesture of the arms, disburdened him-, self of his overcoat, which slipped to

the ground like water. He united a set of jointed poles from the cart, dragged out the canvas bale, and, moving always with a dexterous swiftness, busied himself in setting up a tent at the edge of the open field beside which they had made their pause. As soon as the canvas was thrown over the roof-pole, and arranged about the sides, he carried the woman into the shelter he had made, and rolled a bundle of clothes into a pillow for her head. Coming back to the field, he drove the tent-pegs home, and pulled the ropes taut, unharnessed the donkey, and dragged the cart to the waste ground. A shadow crossed him, and turning half about he saw a man in soiled heavy flannel, with a basin-shaped cap of the same stuff, carrying a tin bottle in his coal-blackened hand. “Ah!” said the acrobat. ‘'You look like a good sort. You won’t mind taking a minute’s trouble for a suffering woman, mate?” The new-comer’s face was as black as the coal he worked in. and his eyes looked as if seen through the slits of a mask, the whites grotesquely marked by contrast. '•What’s up?” he asked, in the slowlocal drawl. “My wife’s inside here,” the acrobat answered. “I can’t leave her and I want a doctor. And she ought to have some decent sort of a woman with her.” ‘’To be sure,” said the collier. “I’ll send my missus. Iler’s only a step away.” He moved on. and turned again. “Army money, gaffer?” “Very little,” said the acrobat. “Ah! I’ll fetch the parish doctor then. Eh?” He made a second start, talking over his shoulder. “My missis ’ll be here in a matter o’ two-three minutes.” The acrobat lingered outside the tent, twirling his empty day between thumb and finger. A low sound of pain came from the canvass shelter, and he listened with wincing shoulders. In a few minutes a careworn woman in a shabby cotton print came breathlessly towards him down the slope. "In here?" she asked.’ He nodded, and she entered, talking. "Here we be. ma’ra. Let me get year bonnet off, theer’s a dear. You’ll be the easier for it, and as it is you’re a crushing it out o’ shape. Theer now. Mine’s gone for the doctor, and he’ll be back in welly no time. Theer, theer. 1 know what it is. Seven I’ve had. and the two youngest alive and well, thank God! They'll be abringin’ in a bit towards their own keep, by and bye, an’ then they’ll be a - blessin’.” The acrobat blinked in the strong sunshine. Ili-» attitude was irresolute, but at the next sound from the tent he moved the canvass aside. "I suppose I’m no good here, missis,” he asked with a gruff softne-s. “•Lord bless your heart and soul alive, gaffer,” the nurse answered, ‘not a bit o’ use in the world.” "That’s true enough.” he said. The nurse east a quick upward glance at him. “You’ll find a public five score yards along the road up hill. Go and stop there.” •’Yes. -Tack.” said the sufferer, feebly. “Go. But you’ll be very careful, won’t you. dear?” "Yes. yes,” he responded. “I’ll be careful. Don’t fret. I’ll be careful.” He stooped for his overcoat, thrust his arms into the sleeves, and walked away. The nurse knelt beside her patient, on the turf. A single shaft of amber light pierced a chink in the tent.

and spread into a glory on the canvas wall. The patient’s left hand lay, as if in sign of self-pity, upon her breast. The nurse looked at the hand suddenly, and as suddenly from it at her patient’s face.

“Pawned," said the sufferer. “Pledged last week at Nuneaton. We were hard-up, and there was nothing else.” “Him?” asked the nurse, nodding sidelong. “ No, no,” the woman answered eagerly. “He’d have died first.” “I can see it in his face as he likes a drop,” said the nurse, in a usual tone, as if she were used to contemplate that condition in a man. “When there like that, they’ll do mostly anything.” “You’re wrong about Jack,” the patient answered. “There isn’t a better nnn in the world. He’d chop his hand off if I asked him.” “I've known them like that,” said the nurse : “but they won't chop off the drink for all their fondness. Now, Mine’s a chip in porridge, Mine is. He’s got nayther gifts nor faults to brag about.’ “You're very kind to a stranger,” said the patient, as the other busied herself about her. “Promise me one thing. Don’t let me die without saying good-bye to him.” “You’ll none die,” the nurse replied. “Y'ou ain't the sort as dies. A bountiful young ereetur like you might be the mother of a score, and keep her figure to the end of it. Die? Rubbidge.” The acrobat had taken his way to the forge inn, and sat in the common room there. The coal-blackened man who. in his own small way had played the good Samaritan, was there also. He had had his tea, and had got into iiis second best suit, and a pair of false collars like the sails of a diminutive yacht. He wore a trailing woollen comforter of many brilliant colours, and. as he sat. its ends reached to the sanded floor. Robbed >f his disguise, of coal dust, he was a sheepish fellow, with harmless grey eyes which seemed to feel their own gaze an impertinence. To him the picturesque vagabond looked like the citizen of another world. His verv attitude marked him.

He had fitted himself into a corner of the high-backed oaken bench. Ona slim foot, in its neat tumbler’s slipper, tapped the floor, and the other was perched on the seat itself and lucked beneath his haunch. His trade had got into his finger-tips, so that when he drank, the earthenware quart measure. quitting his lips, described a circle, and alighted deftly and silently on the table, as if its landing there were the close of a dexterous exercise. He put his pipe to his lips, and, taking it away again with a rounded flourish. expelled the smoke in a dozen or more little rings, one quickly following on another. It was evident that he did not recognise the helpful stranger of the roadside. “I've left my missis along of yours,” the shy man said, awkwardly. “Oh,” said the acrobat, “you’re the man I met outside. I didn’t know you again. I'm sure I thank you, kindly. Drink up, and I'll call for another. Is it all right down there?” “Her's in good hands,” the other answered. “Mine’s an experienced woman, Mine is.” The acrobat pulled a brass ring which depended by a wire from the ceiling, and a cracked bell jingled. A hobnailed man shuffled in, and beer was ordered. Whilst he waited, the acrobat stood up and toyed with a handful of loose coppars in a pocket of his overcoat. Then with a thoughtful, downeast face lie began to juggle with the coins, until both hands sent them spraying like a metallic fountain. The collier's wondering glance was. riveted. He had never seen the like, and, for a novelty, the performance was fascinating. What made it more curious was that on the performer's part it looked entirely unconscious and mechanical. The hob-nailed man shuffled back with the beer, and the copper fountain ceased to play. “You're a family man. I suppose?” said the acrobat, tucking himself up in his old position. “Seven of 'em. first an' last,” said the collier. “Two living." “It's a trying time,” said the acrobat, a little later. His hand and foot were ■beating tattoo on the table and the floor, aud a thin perspiration began to shine upon his face like a film of oil. “Yes," said the collier, “It's a hot of a worrit.” “1 suppose.” said the acrobat- rolling his drink-shot eyes on his companion, “you’re a good husband?" “t>h!" the other answered, too dull io be startled or surprised. “Middlin’! Why?" "1 wanted to know how a good husband feels. That's all. You arc a good husband. I suppose?” “Whv, ves,” his companion answer-

e- 1 one.’* “Nov. I knew a man,” said the a-ro-bat. H> paused ami turned, -ettling his on the table. ’*l knew a man a chap of some education, mind me a > at of half-gentleman —that inn away from home and took up my trade. He married as gcod a girl as ever breathed. In less than six months he !<»>t a good engagement, ami he had to take for a living to the road—just a- I’m doing no". lie took his wife utl on the tramp with him. About a ueek before her first confinement he pawned her wedding ring, and went off on a drinking spree with it. What do you <iy to that?” “>ay?“ Maid the collier. ‘“Damn him!” •’Amen-'* said the acrobat. “Now you w# uldn t think that chap loved his wife, would you?” “No.” ?aid the collier, “I shouldn’t, gaffer.’’ “He did. though, ’’ said the acrobat, and there the conversation die#!. The last -janiker rose from his seat, and looked from the side of the bow window, down the valley. The sun was almost on a level with the ridge, and stared heavily thivcch a -mudge of purple greys and duiied crimson. The furnace tires burned brig against the darkened range of hills and the town was a patch of striked and jmnbled shadows. The tent >-i< cut of sight, hidden by the curve and d’t' »f the road. _Vi < ve the forehead of the road a hi-r-v< head came in sight, together with a silk hat. as if that were a portion of the hors-- gear. The illusion was quaint but brief, fur in less than a second a dog-cart and its driver came into full view. The cart pulled up at the inn door, and its occupant beckoned the tumbler with bis whip-hand. “I*n» the parish medical ottieer,” said the driver, when his call had been obeyed. “ Are you the husband of the woman in the tent ?” “Yes,” said the acrobat. “She said you’d be worrying. It’s all rig’*.: so far. 1 shall be back in an hour.* I!‘ nodded, and drove on. The man stepped into the road and looked after him. The cart turned a curve, the dust its wheels had raised settled down, a bevy of fowls, which had flown with wild earklings. came back to a strutting in&|»evtion of the high road. He noticed ail tin trifles before him with no interest, yet with milch minuteness, and. remern1m :ing nothing of them, went back to the inn room. A smeared man. with his shirt open at the throat, had dropped in in the meanwhile, and stood, mug in hand, before the tireless grate. He said ‘‘Evenin’,” as the acrobat entered. “G< m! evening, mate.” said the other, and looked him up and down, noting his leathern apron and his bare, hairy chest.

“You're a blaek-mith, I fancy. Do you reckon tv make good iron here I” ••The best made anywhere,’’ said the blacksmith, -taring a little. ■ -■ ped t< the i u '.er, and pi : d up a ;■ k- r of wrought iron. "Is that a Sample?” he a-ked, handing it to the smith. ■he -mith laid down his mug, and taking the poker in both hands turned it lure and there before handing it back again. “It’s a 'dt o’ my handicraft,” he answe- ed. "Well, look here.” said the acrobat, in a tone of braggart quiet. He squared hi- shoulders and pu-hed hi- wrists from th ■ -Jeeves of his lose coat. Then, with a hand at either end of the poker, he began to work hi- wrists in such a way that the onlookers would have -worn that the iron was bending like a withe. The smith took'it in his big scorched hands and tried it. "That’s a good trick.’’ he said, "but it’s sound iron.” "Sound iron!” cried the juggler. "Look lieu again.” With a motion which seemed ir no way to differ from that he had enqdoyed before, he worked for perhaps a minute. He seemed to have expended lilt!. effort when he held up the poker in halves. "Yes,” he said, "you make good iron.” "By gosh!” said the smith, "that should buy a drink if thoult have one.” The acrobat assented, and the drink W;.- called. He stood at the window h king d. wn the valley. The hills were pnrpli-li bla-k. and the furnace fires were i.<s . t'o-ni. Ga-lights glimmered in iht - . .■•- of the town. The beat of .1 distant forge-hammer was like th - Seating of a trouble heart. The busy hours of "The Forge” inn raw on. and the room fillet!. Everybody who tame was shown the fragments of the poker. and th- acrobat’s prowess was di- ussed. and bragged about, aud doubted. The object of int-re-t went -u leu. ; rd planted himself in one eoi n.-r. speaking with reluctant brevity when he spake at all, but drinking freely. The smith., planting himself in the brick paved passage, called out the company man by man. and held a whispered talk with each in turn. Finally, he stepped in behind the last man he had beckoned from his place, and. standing in the middle of the chamber, cleared his throat and -poke. "Friends and fellow neighbours,” said the smith. "It's beknown to us all. the rea-wn why a stranger has stopped this night. It’s beknown to us as it’s allays a man’s business to make a iivin , and, aliovt all. at a time like that. Sixpence apiece is what’s been settled on. gaffer” —he turned to the aerobat—"and if so be as you like to let us have a friendly look at youi line o’ work, theer’s a sum o’ nine and sixpence waiting.” "Gentlemen.” said the acrobat, rising from his seat. "1 am very much obliged to you. There never was a time in my lit’.- when a little money was more likely to be welcome. If you’ll lie so goed as to wait while 1 fetch my tools. I’ll give von as good a show as 1 ever gave in my life.” H> was back in five minutes, with a sail, from which he drew out the ordinary paraphernalia of a juggler—plates, knivi'-. ball- of hollow brass, a strip or two oi cane. and. after all these, a cannon bail. 11. wa- a ma-t.r of his trade, and the B'ack Country folk had never seen, and never dreamed of, anything like him. In particular, his tricks with the cannon ball delighted them. He made it play about him like a living thing, snaking aero-s hi- ehe-t or across his back from outstretched hand t ■ utsliet -h d hand. Tin -mith cried out that it wa- hollow, but tin- juggler dropped it in bis hand-, ami. being in>-redul< u- as to its real weight. he let it fall. He picked it up from the brick in the floor it lad broken, and balanced it sham, fa.--.ily, a - ,” he -aid at la-t. and hand'd it back. “Well. now. la k here,” sai 1 th acrobat. "I’m going to throw this to the ceiling and catch it on the back of my ’ ■ I it's a trier saw before. I’ll warrant.” 1 p went the ball, and down it came again, and at that -ec< nd the door opened. The acrobat dropped, like a felled ox. and the d* --tor stepped into the room. Eveiylmdy waited for the end of the tii. k. but the man on the floor made no motion- The doctor knelt, rolled the figure ov. r. and looked np. “<;■-!■!” said the smith, catching the doctor’s rye. "He's dead!”

“Dead,” said the doctor, "as a herring.” Some not ill-meaning fool took the news to the woman in the tent. She held a man child in her arms, but in less than half an hour he was crying for want of warmth. For the soul of the penitent goed for-nothing, who could not mend, had called upon her, and site had followed him.